


sudden

by juicymats



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Flashbacks, Gen, Jumbled Thoughts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, kiibo shows up for a brief second, ouma centric as you can guess, virtual reality au as always
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 06:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12451341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juicymats/pseuds/juicymats
Summary: The feeling of death.





	sudden

**Author's Note:**

> uh..something i wrote when i was kind of freaking out-- i hope the graphic descriptions arnt too much to read .. 
> 
> i wanted to say that even the things you dont expect to bring back traumatic memories often do...
> 
> to ground yourself afterwards, it is hard to do. having a friend always helps, for me.

The pressure is too great.

The weight in his chest, the shallow breathing, it was only a matter of time. The metallic brand fitting of the game's loser. His death will be the symbol of a fool desperately hanging on to a victory he knows will never come. How it sounded when he met his maker.

"..Momota-chan.. when you flipped that switch--what did you hear?"

"Hear? What are you talking about?"

"...Nothing."

A moment of silence passed between them. The heavy air of death and regret spilled the atmosphere with its noxious fumes. Bones crack and blood splatters. Squish. Squash. Like a disgusting and worthless bug.

It hurt. Not a simple, small bruise, which could be bandaged easily. Not a broken bone, which could be healed with the right amount of care and patience. Not like a paper cut, in which the blood could be soaked in a gentle and damp towel.

He felt his bones cracking under the weight into a million pieces. He felt his organs give way under the pressure, twisted and dysfunctional. His heart burst, unable to pump the dirtied blood any longer. He felt that. He felt that. He felt his death. He cannot forget the feeling of his death.

"What did you feel, Kiiboy?"

"What...did I feel? Hmm..I didn't feel. I heard."

Certainly didn't hear his own bones crack, Ouma thought. Anybody could hear an explosion. Anyone.

He didn't "feel."

He didn't feel the same pain.

He didn't.

Everytime he closed his eyes, he imagined the press looming above him. When shadows hit him at just the right angle, he anticipates the feeling of his death. Roads that are just a tad too tight. He opts to go another direction, a way around. Someone steps on a can. Squish. It's all way too small.

He can hear the bones cracking as someone hammers down a nail. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Over and over.

Squish.

Like a bug.

"Hey, you alright?"

Momota questions as he realizes the other occupant in the room is very far away right now. The taller boy places his hands gently on Ouma's shoulders. The once scarf clad boy's eyes return gradually, as he fixes his eyes onto Momota in front of him. Ouma eyes him cautiously, before relaxing.

"Oh. It's just you, Momota-chan."

Momota regards him for a moment. He lets go of him, and gets up, leaving the room. After a beat, he comes back in the room with two juiceboxes. He nudges Ouma with one. "Here. Drink it." He addresses. It's grape flavored.

Ouma wants to argue, to say something against it, but he just sighs silently before taking one of the juiceboxes. He sips on his drink, the deep grape purple color on the box taunting him quietly. Narrowing his eyes, he observes Momota.

He had decided to stay at his house tonight, as Momota had invited him over. The place was surprisingly well kept, at least, to the standards of the other participants. Small touches of Kaito Momota flair adorned the small home, like stars on the ceiling, a carpet depicting the solar system, and small figurines of space ships scattered around.

The taller boy was not without his faults, however. No matter how much it seemed like he was well put together, Ouma knew it was more of a front. A front Momota used to help himself, Ouma supposed. Not to say it wasn't affective, as the astronaut had became an easy source of comfort for the smaller boy.

Not that he would ever admit that, of course.

For now, Momota wore a simple science related t-shirt and black jeans. They sat down together and drank in silence. It was nice. Ouma also noticed the large amount of snacks and junk in Momota's cupboards. Definitely gotta fix that soon. He can't forget this Momota isn't the same one from the killing game, just like Harukawa isn't.

"...Thank you."

"Don't mention it."

Momota's automatic response is expected. What was so comforting about the taller boy was that he didn't mention anything unnecessary. He already knows. He was in the machinery bay, just like Ouma. He agreed to the plan. He pressed the button. He read the script.

"That probably brought back some stuff, huh? I'm sorry."

Ouma merely shrugged. It's not like he knew something like that would send him so far away. Earlier, Momota had been simply rolling out some dough, before he did something with his hands, taking the dough and squishing it--

The sight had surprisingly gotten to Ouma. It was strange. Even he didn't expect such a small thing could cause such a reaction. It was bothering, but he couldn't do anything about it. The smaller boy looks down at the ground, deciding not to respond.

The understanding look Momota gives him relaxes his body, just a bit. It's easy with him, because he was with Ouma in his final moments. He could let his guard down, just a little. Finishing the sugary drink, he tosses it in the garbage bin placed right next to him.

They were both sitting on the space carpeted floor now, sitting in silence. Ouma's breathing and airy state had returned back to normal, and all he felt was exhaustion. He'd been drained of all his energy, all he wanted to do was sleep.

Momota sensed this feeling, and got up to walk over to the closet. He rummaged through it before pulling out a bunch of blankets and pillows, and spread them all on the ground. The carpet was nice and fluffy, so they could get comfortable easily.

The taller boy laid down on a pillow, pulling the covers up to himself. He stares at Ouma for a good while.

"Arn't you going to make yourself comfortable? Come on, lay down. Get some rest."

Ah, Momota puts it so elegantly as always. Still, the smaller boy lies down next to him, making himself comfortable as well. They sit in a relative silence before how tired they really are catches up to them. Momota turns his head to him.

"I think we should cuddle. Helps sleep and all."

Ouma is too tired to argue. Okay, we'll cuddle. He nods, silently. Momota wraps his arms around Ouma, pulling him close to his chest. The sound of their breathing is all you can hear in the room, before they succumb to a deep and surprisingly peaceful sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> i wana get a little sappy and just say to everyone out there who is traumatized-- i seriously wish you the best. 
> 
> its not easy and it sucks even more when simple things can set you off. i was upset about this all day so i decided to write somethin for it..vent fics, woo....


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